


snowglobe

by bathroom_mirror



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Minecraft: Story Mode - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Confrontations, Hurt No Comfort, Not Canon Compliant, the cabin scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:41:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28769520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bathroom_mirror/pseuds/bathroom_mirror
Summary: “Our friends have gotten lame. I swear, if our old fans saw what we’re doing now… I’m just saying, I don’t care how good Lukas’s next book is, it’s not exactly slaying a Witherstorm, y’know?”“Well, that’s a little harsh. They’ve just got their own lives now. I get it.”“Well I don’t.”
Relationships: Jesse & Petra (Minecraft)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 12





	snowglobe

**Author's Note:**

> found something i wrote back in 2019 and decided to rewrite it  
> not beta read

The ripped associate uniform and the scraps of armor put together on top of it were sticky with sweat, dirty from dust and rocks, and even charred in some parts; likely burnt from the fiery, molten 600 level arena of Romeo’s Jesse had just come from. His damp hair clung to his forehead, the inside of his chest felt like it was rattling as he breathed heavily, exhausted and coughing out the last of the smoke from all the flaming mobs and the molten, burning enemies. His entire body felt hot, and his mind, his head, felt like it was going numb.

The dome they just entered didn’t help matters at all.

It was _so cold_ in here. He got a taste of it when they descended the steps, but as they went through the tunnel, the dirt ceiling leaking and water dripping through, it got worse. Colder and colder, until a freezing gust of wind rushed through them as they entered the dome. It overwhelmed him within seconds. He felt feverish as the cool air clung to his skin on top of his sweat _._

It was too cold in here. Colder than December nights in Beacontown, colder than when the strongest typhoons ravaged the town for days on end.

It reminded him of snow, of a tower made of ice.

And no wonder.

The only other place in the Underneath that looked even _remotely_ alive was Fred’s Keep. It was mystical and almost fairy-tale like, the swamps and the glowing mycelium keeping alight the everlasting darkness. It was _unreal_.

Obviously, because it was all done by Fred, an admin.

This place was no different.

In a fenced off garden were flowers in full bloom, wet with dew drops as if tended to very recently. A large birch tree grew off to the side, with thick and tough bark, and healthy leaves, lanterns hanging from its branches. A comfortable home for the parrot that sat in it. It was also fenced, a gate the only entry to it and the stream of water surrounding it. Several lamps were attached to the ceiling in clusters, looking like bright, large stars against the dark shadows of the corners. A cobblestone road, winding in the middle of the fenced off garden, leads up to a small cabin, glowing with a warm light.

The clear center-piece of this set up.

Because that’s all it was. The entire Underneath was dry, _decaying_. A world could only go so long without the sky before it began to rot. What else could it do when it was already buried? Even Fred’s Keep wasn’t immune to that. That place would die out eventually, just like everything else in the Underneath. The keep was a last ditch effort, and so was this.

It’s a scene, a memory, locked in time, preserved and tended to meticulously with something very specific in mind. Like a snowglobe, or a model. A replica, except instead of being a shitty, plush facsimile, every single thing in here was real, as if cut straight out of the surface world and stuck underground. It was as good as _perfect_.

And considering everything he knew, Jesse could take a guess as to who built it and why.

Radar rushed over to the birch tree immediately, gasping at the sight of the small pond it stood in front of. He rushed past Jesse and Petra and straight through the gate, not stopping until he had his feet in the water. Petra and Jesse followed him out the gate, watching as he let out a relieved sigh as he massaged his burnt feet.

“I’m… gonna go take a look around,” Petra said, distantly. She gestured vaguely to the cabin, “I’ll meet you over there.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned around and left, jogging through the winding road and immediately heading for the cabin.

Jesse, finally alone, lets out a heavy sigh. 

His head hurt, an ache numbing his skull. Despite the cold air, uncomfortable heat still ran through his body, under his skin. Dirt and dust and debris and mob guts were still stuck to him in several places, making him queasy. Some of it was even drying up or already hardened, making it hard to move in those areas.

In moments like these, they were hard to ignore.

(In moments like these, he remembers why he wanted to retire.

~~Why he always said no to her invitations.~~ )

He could collapse here, right now. Everything seemed so far away. Everything _is_ so far away. He doesn’t know how far away he is from Beacontown now. How long has he been gone? It felt like the portal hallway again, except somehow he felt even _more_ trapped, _more_ helpless. There was a face to the problem now, a clear villain, a _goal_ ; and they were here for a reason, there _might_ be a way to take him down, but none of that really helped in any way. If anything, it made him feel worse.

Having a face to put to the problem _should_ help. Makes it more solid, more tangible, more _real_.

But when it was someone who could make it snow in a tropical climate? Who could build a palace out of snow in an _instant_? Who could do whatever the hell he wanted, whenever he wanted, with just a clap of his hands?

Romeo was more than the Old Builders could have ever dreamed to be; more than PAMA could have ever dreamed to be. He was powerful in almost every respect, misusing that power at every opportunity, which was already scary by itself.

~~(But the most terrifying thing, what bothered Jesse the most, was how _familiar_ he was. How he could look at that man, and see the exact same person fighting by his side.)~~

Jesse let his eyes fall closed as he leaned against a fence, heaving a sigh. He ran a hand through his damp hair, noticing with a grimace that it had grown longer. It wasn’t _too_ noticeable, it wasn’t as long as it was before, but dysphoria flickered briefly in him anyway. _How much time has passed?_ He wondered, as he pulled at his bangs and stared at the fading red dye.

He let go and hugged himself instead, feeling with a tremble the cold air beginning to sink in. He’d ripped the sleeves off the associate uniform once he got the armor because it was _so hot_ . Ironic. The armor didn’t even help, in combat _or_ the cold — it was just straps and some pads of barely protective cloth. 

Not like he had any other options.

(He always seems to be out of options.)

He let his eyes wander, taking in the scenery of the dome. _All it’s missing is snow,_ he thinks, as he imagines the dark walls over him as glass instead. _It_ would _make for a pretty snowglobe. A nice gift to someone, maybe._

Eventually, his eyes land on the birch tree, where Radar still sits recovering. There’s a sign next to him, propped up on a rock.

A dedication.

His lips form a deep frown, the small moment of calm quickly ending, brows furrowing as he realized his guess was correct.

He turns his head to Petra, who’s staring into the cabin. She’s leaning against the windowsill, clearly exhausted as well.

She seemed deep in thought.

( _“Our friends have gotten lame. I swear, if our old fans saw what we’re doing now… I’m just saying, I don’t care how good Lukas’s next book is, it’s not exactly slaying a Witherstorm, y’know?”_

_“Well, that’s a little harsh. They’ve just got their own lives now. I get it.”_

_“Well I don’t.”_ )

With a sigh, he reluctantly pushed himself off the fence and headed for the cabin.

There was nothing else here. Nothing in the flowers or the tree. Whatever weapon Fred had, it was probably in there.

Better to get it over with.

* * *

“How’s it looking?” He asked her, visibly startling her out of her trance.

"Ah- Doesn't seem to be anybody around," She replied immediately, fiddling with her vest and trying to hide her stammering. "Nobody inside. Should be safe. Ish.”

Jesse nodded silently, giving the door one look before heading straight for it, gait calm and steady as he opened the old door - easily, to his surprise. Someone was here recently - and walked in. 

"Let's just get that weapon and get out of here," Petra says, her voice shaking unsubtly. Jesse raised a brow, wondering if her train of thought was in any way similar to his at the moment.

He decided not to comment on it. “Sure.”

The cabin was incredibly small, its humble coziness quaint when Jesse considered the more extravagant, more egotistical things that he knows Romeo has built. A single carpet covered most of the floor. There were bookshelves, two small chests, a crafting table, and a furnace. Three beds of different, distinct colors lined the back wall, underneath a banner each and separated by bedside tables. An empty armor stand sat at the corner of the small library, bringing out a small, bittersweet chuckle from Jesse.

“What?” Petra asked him, her tone almost annoyed. He shrugged. “Nothing, just remembering that day back at Endercon. I was sparring with an armor stand while Olivia and I were waiting for Axel.”

“Is this… the day of the Witherstorm?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

Then she went quiet.

He walked further in and looked around, scouring the shelves for anything that stood out. He took a book out at random and flipped through the pages, only to find that it was just some old novel - nothing resembling a weapon of some sort.

“There might be something in their bedside tables,” He mumbled to himself. Returning the book, he turned to the beds and began to check each one, sifting through the books and the cabinets wordlessly.

It was quiet between them. A tense, anticipatory quiet, one with a cold, bristling edge that’s just waiting to cut them open. Waiting for someone to start.

It came in the form of a stifled sob. Jesse looked up from the bedside table and turned to Petra, who was trembling as she leaned against the wall, holding herself up as she moved to kneel by the bookshelves.

Jesse frowned. “Petra? You okay?”

“Y- Yeah, I’m fine,” she insisted, her voice shaking. “It’s just- I was reminded of something sad, is all. It’s nothing.”

His brows furrowed, frown deepening. “You sure?”

“I-”

She sighed heavily, holding her head in her hands.

“Olivia took me to your treehouse once,” She started, “To hang out. And this place… everything here looks _so_ much like it.”

She got up shakily, still trembling as she turned to Jesse and gestured to the room around them, “Doesn’t it look like the treehouse to you?”

Jesse shrugged, unwilling to say yes. “A lot of people start out in quaint little houses, Petra.”

She let out a yell, “That’s not the point!”

He raised a brow, but decided not to comment, watching her pace as she wrung her hands. “Ever since the Witherstorm, we hung out _all_ the time. It was the five of us. And now…” Petra hung her head as she stopped, her hands falling to her sides and balling into quivering fists. “Now we barely talk.”

Jesse pursed his lips and looked away, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Why does this keep happening?" Petra laments in a small voice, "Everybody leaves, and I'm- I'm just by myself again."

He looks back at her just as she lifts her head to stare at him, desperately seeking answers. "I don't know what I'm doing wrong. I see them one by one just... leaving."

The man shrugged. "You do kind of push people away," Jesse bitterly says under his breath, glancing away as memories bombard him. "I don't think you mean to, but when things don't go your way, you become distant.”

Distant wasn’t quite the right word, but he decided not to correct himself.

"That's because I know what's coming," she says, and Jesse has to keep from sighing and rolling his eyes.

(At least she recognizes what the problem is now.)

"Better to end it on my terms."

Exhausted, Jesse loosens his muscles and sighs.

He looks back to her quizzically, asking, "Doesn't that seem a little self-sabotaging?"

Petra sighs and shrugs, “Maybe.”

Needing some sort of release of tension, she walks to another bookshelf and leans against it. "Axel and Olivia are barely around,” she muses, “Who knows how much longer Jack's gonna stay with us..." She looks away again. Her fingers mindlessly trace the spines of the old books, documenting legends and heroes and fairytales and fantasies.

"Didn't take long for the New Order of the Stone to fall apart, did it?"

She turns to Jesse with an indecipherable look. Was it an “ _I told you so_ ”? Mourning? Realization?

It disappears when she glances down with a sigh.

"My fault for thinking it could be different. Held together longer than most,” She says despairingly. "That doesn't make it hurt any less, though."

Jesse's teeth grind. _We are_ nothing _like the Old Order, how_ dare _she compare us_ \- "But we're all still friends," he says instead. Aggression would get him nowhere. "Just because we don't get to be together often doesn't mean we don't care."

"They'd _be here_ if they cared," Petra spits out.

_That's not fair, Petra._

Before Jesse can even say anything, she brushes it off, says that it isn't important and that they should find the weapon as quickly as they can. She moves to the banners and changes the subject, points something out to egg Jesse on to _I don't want to talk about this_ , even as he glares at her with a tight frown.

Reluctantly, he moves on to the puzzle. It’s annoyingly easy. What isn’t easy is the heavy tension in the room. The tense quiet was gone now, in favor of a suffocating atmosphere, frustration and anxiety boiling underneath. His heart beat rapidly in his chest as his mind played back what Petra just said on an endless loop, beating it over his head incessantly.

He decides not to say anything though. Now that the cat’s out of the bag, they absolutely should talk about it, they can’t just sweep it under the rug like they did back at the mines, at the beginning of all of this.

But if he pushes, she’ll just shut him down.

So he waits. She’ll talk soon enough.

For now, he solves the puzzle, putting Xara’s bed in its rightful place and hearing the satisfying click of the redstone mechanism unlocking. The floor under her bed moves. Jesse removes it, tucking it in his inventory as he stares down at the book gathering dust in its hiding place. He picks it up and moves to sit on Fred’s bed, holding out the book so Petra could read it too.

“Xara,” it said, “If you’re reading this, I’m already gone. I hid this in the one place I knew you’d go looking. I thought it fitting that the key to ending all this would be back here, right where it all started.

“#potato451,” it said, “is the key to defeating Romeo.”

“ _Potato_ ?” Petra scoffs incredulously, “ _That’s_ the weapon?”

He looks up from the book as she crosses her arms, looking away and blinking rapidly. Her eyes were shining, wet. “That’s not a weapon,” she continued, struggling not to cry. “That’s a root vegetable, and not a very good one. I ju- _ugh_ , I hate potatoes.”

Jesse sighed at her trying to distract herself from the elephant in the room. “I don’t care how silly it sounds, as long as it works,” he said dismissively, returning to the book.

Petra grumbled under her breath, but followed him as he flipped to the next page.

“I wish you wouldn’t have to use it,” the letter continued. Petra read it aloud, “I still have hope for Romeo. He just wanted us to stay together, more than anything. I know that’s why he’s doing this. Maybe I’m being foolish, but I need to know for sure before taking this next step. Though I guess if you’re here, I got my answer.

“Use the password at the primary terminal. You can take away his power and end this. Maybe someday, we’ll be together again.

“Your friend, always, Fred.”

“#potato451.” Jesse nods as he memorizes it in his head.

Petra slumps as he gently closes the book, the dust settling in the air as the pages are shut closed. "I kind of... feel _bad_ for them,” she said forlornly, “Don't you?"

Jesse sighs heavily as he keeps the book away in his pocket. "Their private affairs have nothing to do with us,” he said firmly. “We got what we came for. We should go." He prepares to stand, to get out of here and finish the job since _I don’t wanna talk about it, Jesse,_ but Petra immediately follows after him.

"You really think this has nothing to do with us?” She challenges him, raising her voice. He stops in his tracks, turning to her slightly as she continues. “Don't you get it? Everyone talks about Romeo like he was this... _controlling monster_.”

“That’s because he was, Petra. _Is,_ ” Jesse refrains from saying.

Empathy seeps into Petra’s voice as she goes on, "But Fred wrote that Romeo just wanted to keep them together, more than anything. Isn't that what I've been doing?"

Jesse closes his eyes.

"Especially to you?"

**_Yes._ **

"I don't want you to feel forced to keep doing something you don't want to,” Petra continues, “I don't wanna be that person. Or... or make you feel scared to tell me the truth."

Jesse doesn’t bother to hide it this time, groaning as he looks away, avoiding Petra’s tearful gaze.

("I just want you to be happy."

"The legend is mostly true, I swear."

"To tell you the truth, I thought I'd left Hadrian's negotiations behind me.")

At his silence, Petra sighs, the old red bed she falls on giving a dusty creak as she sits. "Maybe the damage is already done."

She continues, staring at the floor. "I've been thinking about our conversation before,” she said quietly, “About what I should be doing. And, I think I've realized…”

He can feel her eyes on him, boring into the back of his head, as she says, “Whatever it is, it's not in Beacontown."

( _"Yeah, but the reason why it's great.. is because it's not from Beacontown."_ )

"You mean a lot to me, Jesse. I—"

( _"No matter what I do, no matter what happens, YOU'RE the big hero! You probably don't even remember what it's like adventuring out there, scrounging for resources."_ )

"More than anyone else, you've been there.”

( _"Maybe I'm just saying that I'm tired of Jesse calling the shots. Every. Single. Time."_ )

"And I... I don't wanna leave if it means..."

( _"Really? I don't think I heard an apology there. Forget this, I am out of here!"_ )

"You're my best friend, Jesse."

_How did you even get to that conclusion?_

The past seven years play in his head in a rush, like a waterfall or a gust of wind passing through him; and then it was gone in an instant, as quick as it came. The letters he wrote to keep in touch with everyone, the meetings they planned, how they all agreed to see each other every week to catch up.

_Seven years._ Seven years of this.

He lets out a deep, heavy sigh.

Then he turns to her and stares silently. He can barely manage a glare. He’s too tired.

He looks at her, eyes half lidded from exhaustion. She can manage to lock his gaze for only a moment before she cowers, looking away as she shrugs for a last time, and slumps. She bows her head and avoids his gaze, fingers twitching relentlessly at the silence that resumes.

Jesse can't say anything to Petra. He has _nothing_ to say to Petra.

He doesn’t need to say anything anyway.

Because right then and there, she crumbles, wracked by sobs as if she’d been washed to a grainy shore, burning sand getting into the fresh, bleeding wounds. Tears finally push themselves out and stream down her cheeks, her breath hitching as her cries break her. She bows her head and wipes uselessly at her eyes. Jesse looks away.

"I guess you don't feel the same," she mumbles weakly. Her shoulders shake, her voice trembles, and she wipes at her eyes with one unsteady hand, hugging herself with the other.

"That answers that."

In the old, recycled air of the cabin, Jesse stands apart from Petra in the silence, drowning in the abyss.

“I’ll meet you outside,” he mumbles. His footsteps are heavy as he makes for the door, and the resounding thud as he shuts it closed behind him is far too loud for his liking.

The cold air bites at him as he steps out of the cabin. He shivers, hugging himself as he rushes down the steps. He screws his eyes shut, forcing himself to take deep breaths.

He could never admit that he was shaking too.


End file.
